


Blindsided

by MizJoely



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Matchmaking, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:03:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1722476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for danaep24 from tumblr : Molly has to attend the wedding of one of her college friends, and she needs a date, pronto! No one is willing/able to go with her, and decides to set up an online date, and ends up somehow setting up a blind date to the wedding with our one and only consulting detective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blindsided

**Author's Note:**

> I had to put a bit of a twist on this prompt, since I've seen it done before and wanted it to be a bit different. Hope you like it!

It was just like Meena to decide get married on the spur of the moment, Molly thought as she ransacked her closet, looking for something suitable to wear. And to send out announcement at the last possible minute for said spur-of-the-moment wedding.

The two women had been thick as thieves at uni, had drifted apart after graduation, reconnected when they both ended up working at St. Bart’s, drifted apart again after Meena’s first marriage ended and she moved to Glasgow, and now Meena was back in London and getting married again.

However, just because it was her second wedding didn’t mean she had to be so, so, _slapdash_ about the whole thing, Molly fumed as she futilely looked through her dresses for the third time. Not that one, not that one, _definitely_ not the yellow one she’d worn to John and Mary’s wedding last year…

With a huff of exasperation, Molly slammed the closet door shut and plopped onto the edge of her bed. To top it all off, Meena had oh-so-casually included a little hand written note in Molly’s invitation, expressing her _deep_ sorrow at Molly’s breakup with Tom, and reassuring her that it was perfectly fine for her to attend by herself. Annoyed at Meena’s assumption that Molly was currently between boyfriends (which, as a matter of fact, she was, but that was beside the point), she’d sent back the RSVP with a bold black checkmark in the ‘Plus One’ box.

Which led directly to Molly’s second, non-dress-related dilemma: who to bring. Most of her male friends were all either married or involved in relationships, and she wasn’t quite forward-thinking enough to be willing to ask a female friend to come along. Besides which, Meena would be all over her if she did, wanting to know all the details from when Molly had ‘switched teams’ and making insinuations that Molly would protest to no result.

She paused for a moment to wonder why, exactly, she was actually going to this wedding, but at the very least good manners dictated her attendance when she’d already RSVP’d that she would be there.

Which left her with her same two dilemmas: what to wear, and who to take.

She broached both subjects with Mary Watson later that evening, when they met for their weekly pint-and-a-chat lady’s night out. John and Sherlock were watching baby Isabelle – Sherlock and his goddaughter had bonded quite beautifully – and Mary was sympathetic to Molly’s current plight. “Well, we can go to the shops tomorrow to look for a dress, so that’s sorted,” she announced while Molly downed her second pint of the evening. Which was one more than she usually had, but after her stressful afternoon she felt she more than deserved it. “As for taking someone…have you asked Sherlock?”

Molly gave a nervous laugh and gulped down a large drink of her lager. “No, why would I?” she asked, and knew by Mary’s knowing smile that there was no way she could write off the flush of heat on her cheeks to the alcohol she’d consumed.

“Well, he’s single, you’re single, he’s your friend…why not?” 

Molly shrugged, cheeks still burning. “Because he doesn’t do that sort of thing?”

Mary arched an eyebrow. “Is that a statement or a question, Molly?”

Her friend shrugged and took another sip of beer. “A statement. You know he doesn’t do social events…I mean, aside from your wedding, of course. But that was different. Important to him. I mean, it’s not that I don’t think I’m important to him, of course,” she added hastily as Mary’s eyebrow once again curved toward her hairline. “But not…not the same kind of important as John.” The nervous laugh made an unwelcome reappearance. “Not a best-friend kind of important. I mean, yes, we’re friends, but that’s all. So I’m important, but not a take-me-to-a-stranger’s-wedding kind of important.”

Completely befuddled by her own words, Molly finished her beer and rose abruptly to her feet. “I think I want another, do you want another, Mary? Same, yeah?”

Then she hurried to the bar while Mary thoughtfully studied her retreating form. Her lips curved in a smile as she realized the perfect solution to Molly’s problem…well, to her multitude of problems, actually. Including her complete misunderstanding of her current relationship with a certain Consulting Detective. She ran the plan over in her mind while she waited for Molly to return with her refills. She’d have to get John in on it, of course, and there was always the chance that her darling little not-very-good-liar of a husband might accidentally give something away, but the wedding was in a week so chances were good he wouldn’t muff things up.

As soon as Molly returned with two filled-to-the-brim pint glasses and set them on the table, Mary smiled brightly and said, “Molly, I’ve just spoken to John.” She tapped her mobile, which lay on the table in front of her. “He’s got a cousin who’s just the ticket. He’s coming to town for business and a bit of a visit, and since John and I already had tickets to a show next Saturday, he’ll be at loose ends. Shall I have John ring him and see if he’s willing to be your date for the night?”

Molly didn’t even hesitate before saying yes. Poor thing, it really had been a rough couple of years for her. First helping Sherlock fake his death, then keeping it a secret from everyone until his return, then breaking things off with her fiancé – Tom was a dear, sweet man, but a bit of an idiot – and having to deal with Sherlock’s return to drug use, the fake engagement to Janine, the Magnussen shooting and the (thankfully fraudulent) Moriarty return…yes, this wedding was just what she needed. A nice, relaxing afternoon and evening in the company of old uni friends and a date with John’s non-existent cousin.

All Mary had to do was convince John to convince Sherlock he was needed for a case and everything else would be up to he and Molly to work out.

oOo

Molly fidgeted with the lace collar of her dress, and Mary slapped her hands away for the umpteenth time as they waited for the taxi to whisk the younger woman away to the wedding. “Molly, it’s perfect, stop fussing!” Mary scolded her, then reached up and adjusted the cascade of curls she’d so painstakingly worked on, making sure the bright blue bow was securely in place.

Molly’s dress – also blue, although in a softer complementary shade – wasn’t something Mary would have picked for herself, but for her friend it worked perfectly. The white lace was just the right touch of contrast at Molly’s throat, and matched the white lace trim of the petticoat peeping beneath the full skirt. She wore sheer, thigh-high stockings underneath and a pair of conservative navy pumps that gave her an extra inch of height. Nothing too extravagant, just perfectly…Molly.

The sound of a horn beeping alerted the two woman to the cab’s arrival. Molly grabbed her navy blue clutch, accepted Mary’s reassurances that she looked lovely, kissed her on the cheek and off she went.

John’s cousin ‘Harold’ was ostensibly meeting Molly at the wedding venue rather than picking her up from her flat due to a last-minute conference call he’d had to make from his hotel. Molly hadn’t questioned that, just as she hadn’t questioned why ‘Harold’ wasn’t staying with his ‘cousin’. Mary felt a slight pang of guilt at the deceptions she’d heaped upon Molly’s trusting nature, but dismissed it easily. Molly would thank her when this was all over. Or possibly never speak to her again, but Mary was confident it would be the former rather than the latter.

Just as she was confident that she’d receive quite the blistering earful from Sherlock once he realised that he, too had been deceived.

Ah well, if things worked out the way she predicted, she’d gladly endure whatever penance she had to pay.

oOo

Molly paid the driver and exited the taxi, her stomach fluttering nervously as she scanned the small crowd waiting outside the church. It was a lovely, sunny afternoon in late April and there was still another fifteen minutes before the ceremony was due to begin. And if she knew Meena, it would be another fifteen minutes before it _actually_ began. She adjusted the small spray of flowers on her dress, pressing the lace collar back underneath the colorful blooms, and scanned the crowd for a man wearing a boutonniere to match; a single red rosebud with small blue blossoms. He would be wearing a dark grey suit and a blue shirt that Mary swore would match Molly’s royal blue dress exactly.

As soon as she saw the man making his way to her side, Molly froze. No. No, no, no…Mary wouldn’t do this to her. Would she? It had to be a coincidence; Sherlock wasn’t here as her date, he was here for some other reason. Maybe someone was going to try to kill the groom or kidnap one of the bridesmaids?

No such luck. She spied the flowers in his lapel, the colors matching her own – and yes, dammit, his shirt did exactly match the royal blue of her dress – and just stood there, staring at him as he sauntered up to her with a sardonic grin on his face. “Molly. Fancy meeting you here. I don’t suppose you’re actually going to explain the details of this so-called ‘case’ to me, are you?”

She shook her head and he huffed in annoyance. “Of course not,” he muttered. “This is all some scheme of Mary’s, isn’t it.” He gave her a sharp look. “Unless you’re in on it…no, you’re unhappy to see me.” His annoyed expression morphed into something Molly could have sworn was hurt feelings before smoothing out into pure neutrality. “You were expecting someone else. A man. A date.”

She nodded this time and finally found her voice. “John’s Cousin Harold,” she explained. “In London on business. But I suppose he doesn’t actually exist.” She couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice, and once again Sherlock gave her a sharp look. She braced herself for a barrage of deductions, or perhaps a snippy remark about her lack of success in her previous attempts at dating, but all Sherlock did was smile and offer her his arm.

“We should probably take our seats. Do you want to tell me how long you’ve known the bride or shall I deduce it in your ear during the ceremony?” His grin was wicked, and Molly found herself grinning back even as she shook her head at his cheekiness. At least he wasn’t stomping off in a strop at having been tricked into acting as Molly’s date. And although she was a bit miffed at Mary, she knew it wouldn’t last. Unless Sherlock acted like an utter ass. Which he showed no signs of doing as Molly took his arm and strolled by his side into the church.

He continued to behave as a perfect gentleman once they left the church and walked down the street to the reception venue. One thing Meena had always been a genius at was finding the easiest way to do something.

She commented on that to Sherlock, who merely smirked and rolled his eyes in that way he had, the one that said ‘Obviously, Molly, I’d deduced that fact an hour before you said anything.’ She just shrugged and wondered when he’d make his excuses, since the wedding ceremony was over. He hadn’t even stayed for all of John’s reception, after all; chances were he would make sure Molly was seated and fed, then make some excuse and vanish.

Two hours later, when they were dancing together, she finally asked him why he’d decided to stay once he realized he’d been tricked. He was holding her closely at the time, swaying to a slow, romantic tune, and Molly blurted out the question before she allowed herself to get caught up in the moment.

He looked down at her, nose and brow wrinkled in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I stay, Molly? I know I’ve been rather callous with you in the past, but I’d hoped you understood those days were behind me now!” There was no mistaking the hurt in his eyes this time, and Molly felt a stirring of emotions that she’d long since beaten into submission. Or thought she had, anyway.

“So you stayed because you didn’t want to hurt my feelings?” she said, seeking clarification, although she desperately wanted to hear him say something a bit more…intimate. A declaration of love, for example, would be just about perfect.

Whoops, perhaps she’d better not have any more champagne; the hopeless romantic in her was definitely taking over, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d say something she’d regret.

Then again… “I stayed because I wanted to spend time with you,” was Sherlock’s frank – and rather shocking – reply. His hand tightened on hers, and he pulled her slightly closer as she gaped up at him. “Mary’s methods might have been slightly underhanded, but one thing I’ve learned about her is that her instincts are always spot on. Especially when it comes to human nature,” he added, lowering his voice a bit. “Now that my life has quieted back down into something approaching normal – well, normal for me,” he added with a smile, a brief quirk of the lips that definitely reached his eyes, “I’m rather hoping the two us of can finally be on the same page.”

“The same page,” Molly repeated, rather stupidly she realized, and winced. But Sherlock merely nodded, so she went on. “As in, I’m not engaged, you’re not up on murder charges…”

“I’m not faking an engagement or taking drugs for a case,” he interjected wryly. “Neither of us is worried about a madman coming back from the dead to upend our lives…”

“On the same page,” Molly repeated, then broke into a hesitant smile. “You do mean as in the two of us becoming…involved. Romantically,” she added. For extra clarification. Because now was not the time for misunderstandings, and if she had horribly misread his intentions, she wanted to know now and get it over with.

“Yes, Molly,” Sherlock said as the music ended and they came to a stop near the edge of the dance floor. “Romantically.” Then he dipped his head low and captured her lips for a soft, sweet kiss that held all the promise she’d ever need him to give her.


End file.
